


Betwixt and Between

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: hds_beltane, First Time, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescuing Severus Snape from near-death in the Shrieking Shack was only the beginning for Harry and Draco. After seven years of hard work, they find themselves racing against time to save him... again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betwixt and Between

**Author's Note:**

> **Betas:** Meri Oddities, Angela Snape, Eeyore9990 (Any mistakes left are my fault, not theirs.)
> 
> **Author's Note:** This is one of those stories of my heart and came from my first ever HP plot bunny (originally conceived in 2007). I had some of the early scenes drafted/outlined and was absolutely gleeful to be able to rewrite/complete this when asked to pinch-hit for marionquixote in [HDS Beltane on Livejournal](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/).

**1\. Not Quite Forgotten**

Harry watched Ron and Hermione return to the Great Hall and then stood at the bottom of the stairs to the headmaster's study, paralysed by the endless possibilities available to him. A sandwich in his bed. A sandwich in his bed with the curtains drawn. A sandwich and then a nap in his bed with the curtains drawn and a Notice-Me-Not charm. He really didn't want much. Just peace and quiet and being alone and something to eat and … Shit! Harry closed his eyes and groaned. He'd forgotten to go back for Snape. One more task that was down to him. McGonagall had more than enough on her shoulders, and he couldn't ask anyone else.

Shrugging his Invisibility Cloak back on, Harry concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and on not tripping over any of the students and adults who seemed to be wandering around aimlessly. Far too many near collisions later, he walked out of what was left of the front doors and picked his way down the path to the Whomping Willow. Foot, foot, foot, he thought, and tried not to look too closely at any of the battle debris. He did not want to know what or who he was stepping over and on.

The silence in the Shrieking Shack assaulted his ears. Where were the screams bouncing off the walls, hisses distracting him with Parseltongue, curses and hexes tempting him to react? Anything to distract him from the body crumpled on the floor, the fetid scent of blood and old magic, the silence.

"You stupid arse. Damned greasy git. How am I supposed to make sense of everything now?" Cloak slipping off his shoulders and onto the floor, he fell to his knees next to Snape, the man he hated and didn't hate, desperately wanted to talk with and never wanted to hear from again. "It doesn't make sense you know? Some of those memories you gave me? They don't match your words. I've got no way to know where you hid the lie and, with you, there's always a lie." Harry started with Snape's limbs, feet together, arms crossed over chest. The gentleness of Harry's movements contradicted the harshness of the words that spilled out of his mouth. He brushed a dark tangle of hair away from the closed eyelids, straightened the twisted neck, wincing when blood oozed from the open wound.

_Blood oozed out of that open wound._ Harry sat back on his heels and turned that thought over in his mind and then over again. He whispered it to Snape, as if speaking too loudly would jinx everything. "Blood just oozed out of your open wound. And while I'm thinking on that, aren't you supposed to be stiff and all, like the bodies on telly?" But Snape had no answers.

All the times he'd watched the telly despite the Dursley's best efforts to keep him away, he had to have seen — his muddled thoughts slid sideways, interrupted by the vague memory of a hand held over a mouth. Something about breathing or someone's breath, maybe? And then he remembered. A mirror. You held it over someone's mouth. Only one came to mind, and surely, with all of the Marauders dead, there was no one left to mind him using it on Snape. He held out a hand, drew his wand, and yelled, "_Accio_ mirror." It should have been impossible and yet the shard appeared in his outstretched palm in a flash of blue and black. He bent over and held the glassy side over Snape's mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Startled, Harry flinched, and the shard of mirror sliced into his thumb. He brought it to his mouth, sucking on it as he swung around to glare at the entrance.

"Hasn't he been through enough?" Draco Malfoy clutched his filthy, bloodstained robes to his chest with one hand and pointed his mother's wand at Harry with the other.

Holding out the shard so Draco could understand, Harry said, "Cloudy."

"Kneazle got your tongue?" Draco sneered.

"It's cloudy," Harry repeated, but Draco still didn't seem to understand. Harry held the shard over Snape's mouth again. "Not much, but it's definitely there. I think he's breathing."

"Alive?" Draco murmured. He slid to his knees on the other side of Snape, grabbed the shard from Harry to see the evidence of Snape's shallow breaths for himself.

Draco's willingness to believe made everything real, and Harry's brain snapped back onto the rails. "Madam Pomfrey. He needs her."

Draco held Snape's wrist. "He's so cold. Why can't I feel a pulse?"

"I don't know." Harry reached across and touched Draco's shoulder, adding a fresh smear of blood to those already decorating the cloth. "But breathing means alive. We've got to get him out of here."

"Agreed." Draco raised an eyebrow. "Levitate him?"

Remembering the difficulties they'd had floating a petrified Snape back to Hogwarts the last time, Harry shook his head. "We could hurt him in that narrow tunnel. Maybe on a stretcher?"

"Allow me." Draco took off his robes, revealing black trousers, a once-white shirt, and a Slytherin jumper, laid them on the damp ground, and Transfigured them. Carefully, they shifted Snape onto the stretcher.

Harry pulled off his own shirt. Wrinkling his nose, he cast a quick _Scourgify_, and then a few more for good measure. After turning it inside out, packed he it around the wound on Snape's neck and tied the sleeves as tightly as he could. They stood and stared at each other across the stretcher.

Finally, Harry said, "I suppose you want to do it."

"I would like—" Draco hesitated, then admitted, "I don't know if I have enough energy left."

"I'm shattered," Harry responded, uncomfortable with how relieved he felt. "Together?"

"It would be fitting."

They raised their wands and said the Levitation charm together. Harry motioned for Draco to precede the stretcher, then reached down and picked up his Invisibility Cloak. As soon as they got outside, Draco took the left and Harry took the right. Each with one hand on the stretcher and the other holding their wands, they ran to the castle.

~o~o~

**2\. Seven Years Later**

Harry resisted the urge to dance around his one room flat, singing "mine, mine, all mine" and mark his claim on every piece of furniture and every pile of parchment or books. Even the wards were his. No one could get in without his permission. Not even the witch who owned the building, although Harry hadn't told her that. At that moment though, with Ron and Hermione feeling like a crowd in his small space, he wished his wards could evict people who were already there. There was nothing wrong with liking to be by himself, after all. Nobody demanded the impossible from him when he was alone.

And if he was occasionally lonely or sometimes wished for someone to talk to, that didn't mean he didn't like being alone. After all, he didn't spend every night by himself.

He sighed and shifted on the uncomfortable kitchen chair that he'd turned around to face into the sitting room. Maybe he should transfigure it into a squashy armchair? Such an effort though, and he really couldn't be arsed. Not when he needed all of the energy and concentration he had left after a day spent finalising and submitting his thesis to deal with his friends. Shoving aside the wish that life hadn't sent them off in different directions and left him feeling as if they'd little in common any longer, he twisted his hair into a long, thick tail in the faint hope that it would stay out of his face. He crossed one leg over the other and contemplated the bare foot exposed by the ragged hem of his jeans. Had he showered that morning? Probably not, if the scuff of dirt around his ankle was anything to go by. Which reminded him, did he have any shampoo left? Or soap?

"Knut for your thoughts?" Hermione sat on the sofa with Ron. He held her hand against his chest. Her pink nail polish clashed horribly with some of the colours in his Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shirt.

"Hmmm?" Harry jiggled his foot.

"If this is a bad night, we could come back."

"No. Really. It's okay."

The silence expanded into awkwardness again. Then Ron tried, asking, "You sure you're all right about Ginny, mate?"

"I'm fine, yeah. We talked," Harry paused and ran his fingers through his hair, then twisted it back into a tail again, trying for casual, trying to hide the fact that he hadn't a clue when he and Ginny had had that conversation. A week maybe? Couldn't have been longer than two, he was pretty sure. Before he'd started working on that last set of charms but after he'd finished the first draft of his thesis. "I agreed that she deserves someone who pays attention."

"Dean's not you though," Ron said. "Got no taste at all. Likes the Tornadoes."

"He's turned into a complete berk, then." Harry dredged up a grin from somewhere, relieved when he felt it creasing the skin around his eyes. "Ginny's going to enjoy putting him to rights."

Ron snorted, snorted again, and then sniggered. His amusement infected Hermione, who started giggling. Harry smiled, laughed a little, and relaxed a little bit more. It hadn't been particularly funny, but maybe they'd be all right after all.

They were still laughing when a large brown owl flew through the flap above the kitchen window. Without looking, Harry automatically reached out and caught the envelope before it hit the floor. Creamy and almost square, the envelope wasn't as heavy as that very first letter from Hogwarts, but it had the same seal and held the same potential for making everything so much better and so horribly worse. Even felt the same under his fingertip, the seal smooth and silky with promises. Tracing the address with a trembling finger, Harry tried to swallow against the constriction in his throat, to breathe against the ache in his chest. All that work to graduate from uni, to research the potion, create the charms, that thin, pale… Harry shook his head. Not now. Not with them here. Not when his hands clutched the possibility of returning to the closest thing to home he could remember.

"A Hogwarts letter?" Hermione leaned forward. "Are you going to read it? Or just keep us guessing?"

"Yeah, maybe." Harry stared at the letter, turning it over and over. He desperately wanted to open it right now; desperately wanted to leave it sealed, keep the possibility of 'yes' in his future.

Unable to sit still, he got up and went to drop a few owl nuts into the bowl attached to the perch. The barn owl dipped its head in acknowledgment and started eating. Harry closed his eyes against the memory of Hedwig gently nipping his fingers in appreciation.

He paced around the kitchen nook, putting away the leftover Indian takeaway, moving things around just to give himself something to do with the hand that wasn't holding the letter. His carving knives were in his trunk with the toys he was working on. Could he play with knives without worrying them? Probably not. When everything had been moved someplace else and then put back where it was originally, and the owl had gone on its merry way, he went over to the fireplace that took up most of the wall in the sitting area. A quick _Incendio_ to start a fire and he had an excuse to curl up on the oversize cushion he used for extra seating. He looked down at the letter, still clutched in his hand. Why not get it over with, read the letter, find out if the news was good? Surely he deserved to have something to celebrate.

"Harry?" Hermione knelt down beside him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tilting her head, crinkling her forehead, she was clearly waiting for him to say something.

Ron joined them, sitting cross-legged on the rug. He didn't say anything, just leaned back on his hands and waited.

"You know you can talk to us about anything," Hermione said.

Harry chewed on a fingernail. Why couldn't they leave him alone a bit longer? He just needed a little more time to figure things out, to make that one last thing right. But there was nowhere to hide from her curiosity. He'd give his left bollock — okay maybe not quite that, but something really important — to have a bedroom with a door instead of the sleeping alcove at the other end of the main room.

Ron stretched his long legs out until his feet touched the fireplace. His voice was gentle when he spoke. "Ignoring her isn't going to work, mate. You know how Hermione feels about getting answers."

Harry sighed. The days when he could use Ron to sidetrack Hermione were clearly long gone. He took a deep breath and looked at Hermione. "You have questions?"

"Many, but we can start with the easy ones." Hermione smiled and ticked off a finger for each item. "Why don't you want to look at that letter? Why do you live in this rubbish flat when Grimmauld Place sits empty? Why the suddenly studious mad rush at university, doubling up on your courses to get an advanced degree years early? Why turn down all those invitations and offers and start hiding from the world? What have you been doing every Monday and Wednesday night for the last few years?"

At the last question, Harry bit through skin as well as nail. The sharp pain pulled him away from the image of a long, thin body, lying unnaturally still in a canopied bed. He sucked on the bleeding cut.

"I want to teach or at least give it a try," he said finally, picking her third question as the safest to answer. "I'm good at it. Even in school, I was better than most of those useless Dark Arts professors." Hands shaking, hope breaking open in his heart, he broke the Hogwarts seal with his wand and pulled the thick parchment from the envelope. "I need to do something that comes from me, Harry Potter, not from Voldemort or Dumbledore or the fucking Boy Who Lived."

"You get the job?" Ron asked, pointing at the still-unread letter that Harry was smoothing out. "Going to teach DADA?"

"Not bloody likely. I've had enough curses and hexes to last me several lifetimes. Flitwick's packed it in."

Hermione nodded. "Charms."

"Yeah." He skimmed down, past the Dear Mr Potter, to the first paragraph. Read it. Then read it again. Not breathing. Not even sure that his heart was beating. Then he released the breath he had been holding and smiled. "Yeah!"

"Congratulations." Hermione said.

"Brilliant." Ron grinned. "Let's drink to it, then, you making a future for yourself."

"Thanks." Harry smiled weakly and shrugged, trying to get his head around the idea that he might have a future after all. After he killed Voldemort, it had all seemed so simple, so predestined. He was going to marry Ginny, be folded into the Weasley family, and get to stand on platform 9 and 3/4 every September to watch his kids go off to Hogwarts. All through that horrible year of chasing Horcruxes, he'd clutched at his memories of needing, kissing, holding Ginny. Then, he'd gone back to Hogwarts for his final year and, no matter what he tried, he hadn't been able to resurrect the beast of sixth year — the one that had driven him to kiss the lovely tomboy in the common room. He'd wanted to want her, to be normal, but nothing had worked. Because people like him didn't get to be normal. The push of cold glass against his hand pulled him out of the daze. He stared at the smear of red on the beer bottle. When had he sliced his thumb on the letter? Muttering a quick spell, he healed the paper cut cleanly.

They toasted Harry and his new job until the bottles were empty, and they drank most of their way through another round. By then, they were all feeling more relaxed. Harry was sprawled across the cushion and the floor. Ron and Hermione were back on the sofa. Ron had angled himself into the corner, one arm across the back of the sofa and the other in Hermione's hair. She was curled up on her side, facing Harry, with her head in Ron's lap.

Hermione held her almost empty bottle by the neck, dangling it just above the floor. "I'm glad you invited us over tonight. I've missed you." She sniffed a little. "You never even told us why you didn't want to see us any more. Was it was something we did?"

A familiar sense of guilt and failure slashed at Harry. He probably should have talked to them. Hermione was always happy to help. He tried to reassure them. "It was never about you."

"What's it about then?" Hermione slid back down to the floor and reached out to Harry. "We're your friends. No matter what it is, you can talk to us."

Ron leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We love Charlie just the same, you know."

"You think that I'm—" Harry flushed. "That that's what this is all about?"

"You tell us, mate."

Tugging on his hair, Harry wondered again why he had ever thought that things would be simpler after he killed Voldemort. "It's not that … or, really, not just that. You know what school's been—"

A chime interrupted Harry, announcing the imminent Floo arrival of one of the few people with permission to pass through his wards. He groaned when the flames turned green and all that appeared was a pale hand with a heavy signet ring on the index finger. That could only drop him deeper into it.

Harry leaned into the hearth and announced, "I've got visitors."

A second hand appeared just long enough to toss a folded parchment into the room. While Harry was rolling back to snatch it out of the air, both hands disappeared and the flames returned to their normal colour.

Definitely deeper into it, Harry thought when he saw the expressions on his friends' faces. He glanced at the note then at the clock on the mantelpiece.

>   
> _The potion will reach the critical stage at ten o'clock. Don't be late.  
> DM_   
> 

"DM?" Hermione frowned. She was reading upside-down.

"Malfoy?" Ron rubbed a hand against his chin. "Bloody hell, you don't make it easy, do you?"

"He's not. We're not..." Harry flushed again and tried not to think about what they weren't. "We've been working on this project for a while. Fusing charms and counter-curses with potions. His potions. My spells."

"Isn't that what you're writing your thesis on?" Hermione studied Harry, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping on the floor. "And Malfoy's getting a dual Mastership in Healing and Potions."

He nodded. His stomach did a flip when he recognised the _click, click, click_ of her brain working through a problem. He knew that look, the one she always got right before she thrust up her hand to answer a complicated question in class.

"Oh, Harry. Is that what this has all been about?"

"Is _what_ what this has all been about?" Ron got up and pulled the note out of Harry's lax hand. He wrinkled his nose. "You're making a potion?"

"With Malfoy." Hermione lifted her chin and stared into Harry's eyes. "For Snape."

"Yes and yes." Oddly relieved to say it out loud, Harry checked the clock again: twenty to ten. "And if Draco's work isn't to be wasted, I've got to go."

A series of _Accios_ brought his wand and then his rucksack, the knife that went in his belt-sheath, the soft leather bag of partially-carved toys, and the book and roll of parchment he'd stuffed in the bookcase closest to the door when his friends had arrived. He tossed the rucksack over his shoulder, shoved his bare feet into trainers, and decided against pulling robes over his ratty jeans and jumper. Draco would just have to suffer for once.

"Lock up for me?" he asked. "The wards will reset automatically as soon as you close the door."

"Of course." Hermione hugged him. "If you need help with the research..."

"Call her, don't call me." Ron bumped Harry's shoulder.

"I will. Thanks." Harry tossed a handful of Floo powder, and then stepped into the flames. He said, "Grimmauld Place."

"Grimmauld? Oi!" The swearing that followed Ron's yell was cut off by the spin of the Floo network.

~o~o~

Harry stumbled out of the kitchen fireplace and fell to his knees, head still spinning from the Floo travel. He shook his head and wiggled a finger in each ear, trying to clear out the echoes of Ron's voice. A wave of relief ran through him. Here instead of there meant he didn't have to answer any more of Hermione's questions. At least until the next time he saw her.

Draco leant against the table and looked down his nose at Harry. His hair was now a shade or two darker than its original pale blond and was just long enough to avoid being called a crew-cut. His tailored clothes fit impeccably, even if his light pink shirt was a bit frayed around the cuffs and the silver grey trousers had a few worn, shiny patches. Robes that matched the trousers were slung over the other end of the table. He drawled, "Harry Potter kneeling before me. I could get used to this."

"You wish," Harry retorted. He hadn't stumbled his way out of a Floo in years, and he hated making an idiot of himself in front of Malfoy.

Draco turned to look at the clock. "You're almost on time. How disappointing. Now we're going to have to entertain ourselves while we wait for the potion to be ready."

"You said ten o'clock."

"Forgive me for assuming that you would run on Potter standard time."

"Prat."

"Git."

They smiled at each other. Then Draco reached down and hauled Harry to his feet. After finally figuring out what the hell Draco meant by all those meaningful glances and gestures at the uncovered cauldrons bubbling away on the counter — would it hurt if the man spoke up like a normal person? — Harry took himself into the hallway to dust the soot and ash off his clothes. When he returned to the kitchen, Draco was sitting at the table, mug of tea in front of him, twisting the signet ring around his finger. Harry sat down opposite, picked up the second mug, and inhaled the steam.

"Visitors?" Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Granger and Weasley, I presume, given that you didn't bother showering before they arrived. Not that you bathed for me, either. Which, by the way, is completely unacceptable."

"It's not as if I smell or anything. I showered last night," protested Harry. "But, seriously, can we not go into that right now?" Not his fault that all he had worth living for these days was this almost completed project and a chance to go back to Hogwarts, or that both of those long-desired possibilities were likely to leave him without Draco in his life. And he didn't want to think about how much that bothered him. Or what would happen when Draco's probation ended and he was once again permitted to _congregate_ with Parkinson and Zabini and Goyle.

A dip of Draco's head, a lift of his shoulder provided sufficient acknowledgment that Harry was able to swallow a mouthful of tea and put down his mug. Relief washed through him again, along with something else that he couldn't identify. At this point, his subconscious could just shut it, he thought. Changing the subject, he asked, "Everything go okay today?"

"Eventually. Those ungrateful louts in Knockturn actually demanded that I pay cash upfront." Draco sipped his tea. "At least they agreed to give me an hour to withdraw the Galleons."

"Gringotts didn't give you problems?"

"No. Although one of them did suggest that an accounting of funds spent would be appropriate."

"Hope you told him to sod off."

"As vociferously as possible, while trying to avoid creating a scene. Unfortunately, the goblins were neither impressed nor the least bit inclined to change their attitude. They simply pointed out that I was withdrawing almost everything in our joint vault, and that you had contributed all of the funds. Still, in the end, my name was on the vault so they had no choice but to allow me take the money." Draco flicked his wand, and a receipt appeared in front of Harry.

"Damn. Where's Fawkes when you need him? I didn't realise phoenix tears cost the earth."

"And then some, if you want to be sure that you're getting the real thing."

"If it works..." Harry blew out a breath, unable to finish the sentence, or even the thought.

"If it works, it will be worth every Galleon."

~o~o~

"So, I do this, then you add that, and then we finish with this, right?" Harry pointed with his wand to the last set of lines in Draco's journal.

"Yes, and then we wait while the potion simmers." Draco spoke with the exaggerated patience of someone who has gone through the same exercise one too many times. "Three hours, twelve minutes, and forty-five seconds after that, if we've managed to be both correct and lucky, the potion will turn blue, then yellow, then green."

"And if not, we start all over again." Harry grimaced. "Ever wonder what he'd think about us working on this?"

"We wouldn't get a heartfelt thank you." Draco peered into the bubbling cauldron. "He'd be leaning over our shoulders, berating our every move."

"And making sure that we got it right," Harry finished. Regret and loss was sudden and sharp. There were so many things he hadn't taken the time to understand in that mad rush to draw a line between good and evil.

A bubble leaped into the air above the cauldron then popped. Draco inhaled the sharp, bitter scent and said, "Now."

Harry dipped his wand into the cauldron and focused his attention on infusing the simmering liquid with the first set of spells. _Finite Somnus_ to end the unnatural sleep. _Subvenio Valentia_ for energy. _Suscitatio_ to awaken. He paused after each spell, watching for the change, before moving on to the next. After the third spell, Draco dipped his wand in, aligned it with Harry's, and then slid the phoenix tears down the channel created by their wands. Hands joined over their wands, they stirred. When red steam twisted up from the cauldron, they repeated the three spells, stirred counter-clockwise, incanted the phrases of the final spell — a variant of _Rennervate_ that Harry was particularly proud of — and stirred clockwise.

As soon as Draco released his hand, Harry withdrew his wand. It was dry. No evidence of the tears. Not so much as a drop of potion clung to the tip. Exhaustion rose up, blurring his vision. He staggered over to the table and collapsed into a chair. The tap of his wand that warmed his tea took everything he had left, but it gave him something to wrap his unexpectedly cold hands around. "I could murder a sandwich right now."

"Good thing I had Kreacher make some up then."

Harry glanced around, involuntarily, but Kreacher didn't appear when his name was mentioned. Suppressing a sigh of relief — he didn't think he'd ever become as comfortable as Draco was around the rigid old house-elf — he snagged a chicken sandwich from the plate and started eating.

At prescribed intervals, Draco rose to stir the potion with a crystal rod. In between he read a book on potions. Harry went to the library to find something to read, purposefully avoiding the section that held grimoires and other spell books. He finally settled on a novel about wizards in ancient Crete.

After the ninth or ninetieth time he'd read the same line and Draco had finished stirring in one direction or the other, Harry let his book fall shut. He opened his mouth.

"Don't say it." Draco glared at him.

"How'd you know what I was going to say?" Harry leaned back in his chair, dredging up his favourite insolent grin.

"Because you're utterly predictable," Draco reached over and closed his own book. "And for the record, we've still got two hours to go."

"How do you stand it? I mean, really. The preparation is all right, and managing to end up with the right stuff makes me feel accomplished, but this bit in the middle is boring as all get out."

"You're talking as if I have a whole lot of choice. I've got another year on my probation and a laundry list of things that I can't do in the meantime. No Ministry work. No political appointments. No internship at St Mungo's. No teaching children. No this. No that. And definitely none of the other. The list is fucking endless."

"At least it's temporary."

"Assuming they sign my release." Draco sighed. "And assuming that someone will hire me if they do."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this. Everything was supposed to be fixed." Harry shoved back the urge to break something. From frustration, he told himself, not that tightness around Draco's eyes and mouth.

"Gryffindor." Draco snorted. "Happy endings only last until the next beginning."

Harry waited until Draco stirred the potion again before responding. "Sometimes I envy your father, you know. Nothing has changed for him."

"He's living in a perfect world, as long as sufficient funds remain in the Malfoy vaults to pay for it," Draco said. "Private rooms at the Pelham Institute aren't cheap. At least the healers finally agreed to stop trying to get him to remember Azkaban or my mother's death."

"Keeping your father in the manner to which he is accustomed has never been cheap. If you need help..." Harry trailed off, not knowing how to make the offer in a way that wouldn't set Draco off.

"What? The great Harry Potter will step in and save yet another day?" Draco's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Malfoys aren't charity cases."

Harry clamped down on his temper. Counted to ten and then back down to one. When he could speak without yelling, he gritted out, "That's not what I was going to say. Look, I've got the Black estate. Your mother was a Black. You could make a claim like Andromeda did. Think about it, all right?"

"Perhaps." They glared at each other until Draco snorted. "Just ignore me right now. I'm barely fit for human company."

Following Draco's gaze to the cauldron, Harry said, "Me neither. And I'm pants at small talk."

"I might have noticed that over the years. Beat you at chess?"

"God, yeah."

~o~o~

Harry watched Draco decant potions from the different cauldrons and nestle the phials into protective carry cases. Those slender hands and wrists belied the strength Harry remembered from fights in hallways and tussles on the Quidditch pitch. The strength he'd felt when they stirred the potion together. He leant forward as Draco raised his left hand, lifting the phial of their experimental potion to the light, turning the glass so that threads of green and blue flared in the clear liquid.

The sleeve stretched against the tightly buttoned cuff to slip upward a fraction. Almost revealing the Dark Mark Harry knew marred that forearm. He'd never seen it, but found himself compelled by it nonetheless.

"Was losing that bad?" Draco pointed with the full phial.

Harry glanced down and flushed, forcing his fist to unclench. "What?"

"You looked as if you wanted to hurt something."

"Not really." Harry turned back to the cauldrons he was supposed to be cleaning. "Just thinking." _About you and your ever-covered forearm._

"Why don't you leave those for Kreacher," Draco said. "That's the last of them. We could go to Hogwarts now."

"Right." Harry dropped everything into the sink. "We could go now."

"We gain nothing from waiting."

"Let's go then."

Draco pulled on his robes without putting down the phial in his left hand. He walked over to the open space in front of the fireplace and paused, clearly waiting for Harry.

"Don't forget the other potions. Hogwarts might not survive if Poppy runs out of Calming draughts." Harry found a smile from somewhere. He handed one of the filled cases to Draco and tucked the other two under one arm. They Apparated together.

~o~o~

The stairs at the end of the infirmary hallway spiralled down to the floor below. Nowhere near as long a walk as it felt to Harry. Third door on the right, next to Poppy's personal quarters. He murmured the password, used his wand to tap the panels on the door in the correct order, and walked into the room. Thick rugs muffled his footsteps. Warming charms kept the temperature steady. Candles burned, casting a dim light that barely reached the bed in the centre of the room. The hangings were wrapped around the posts and tied at the bottom to keep them from coming loose. Harry ignored the chairs placed on either side and went up to the edge of the bed.

Snape was still and silent, as he had been every other time Harry had visited. His appearance still took Harry by surprise. Not the scarring on Snape's neck that had persisted despite frequent applications of dittany and potions, but the subtle changes that had occurred when Snape's muscles relaxed, the ever-present scowl had disappeared, and the lines had smoothed out. The man hadn't suddenly become attractive. Not with that big nose and the hair that was still as lank as ever, black with only a little grey, although daily washing helped keep the greasiness down to a minimum.

"You is needing help, Harry Potter sir?"

"Winky?" Harry looked around, not relaxing his grip on his wand until the house-elf slid off a chair on the other side of the bed and became visible.

"He is doing well, Harry Potter sir. Winky is taking good care of Headmaster Professor Snape, as Harry Potter and the Headmistress is asking."

"Thank you." Harry smiled to see her in a clean tea towel. Hermione might never forgive them, but Kreacher had been right. Winky had needed a master, and Snape had needed a caregiver.

Winky bobbed. "You is wanting to be alone with Headmaster Professor Snape, yes?"

"For a little while, yes."

"You is calling if you is needing anything. Winky be listening." A quiet pop accompanied the house-elf's disappearance.

Harry perched on the side of the bed and reached for one of Snape's lax hands. "That was one hell of a riddle, all those memories out of context. Took me a while to figure it out — I even researched Patronuses — but apparently I'm not a complete dunderhead after all."

"I think the jury's still out on that one, Potter." Draco leant against the doorway. When he had Harry's attention, he sauntered across the room. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"He looks so peaceful." Draco moved a strand of hair out of Snape's face and tucked it behind one ear.

"Gives me the willies."

"That too."

"I will administer the potion, if you don't mind." Poppy Pomfrey waited until Harry stepped back, allowing Draco to watch her work as usual. Harry would have complained about special treatment, but he knew it was the closest Draco had been able to get to the Healer internship that was crucial to passing the intermediate stage towards his mastership.

A flick of her wand created an opaque barrier around the bed. Harry could hear her continuous muttering, but couldn't make out any of the words, as she dictated notes to a quill on Snape's condition.

When the opaque barrier dissolved, she tucked the notes and quill back in a pocket and held up the phial she'd taken from Draco earlier. Harry had seen her administer potions hundreds of times, probably had received at least that many from her, but this was the first that he'd worked on. He moved up to the bed, found Draco's hand, and gripped tightly. There was reassurance, familiarity in that, in holding onto something of Draco's when he tried to beat the odds. Not for death this time, he prayed.

At least thirty minutes, Draco had said, for the potion to take effect. Poppy pushed them down into chairs, sent a house-elf in with tea and biscuits, and left them to their vigil. Harry sat still and silent. The tea cooled, undrunk. His world was reduced to the feel of Draco's skin against his fingers, the sensation of Draco's fingers pressing back, and the motionless man on the bed.

The groan was harsh and rasping. Wide-eyed, Harry looked at Draco, who shook his head. Back to the bed, to Snape who seemed unmoving as ever, except for the right arm. No longer lying rigid along the body, the hand was parallel to the shoulder, almost at the edge of the bed, palm upward. Another sound, an even odder sound, pulled Harry's gaze to the side, following the reaching arm.

Snape was translucent, ghost-like — if ghosts came in full colour, which they didn't. Black shoes, black trousers, black robes that flared around his ankles even though he stood perfectly still. Arms crossed over his chest, fists clenched. Harry forced himself to keep looking up, knowing what he would see. A high buttoned collar and above that, a scowling face, and black eyes glittering and alive.

"Potter! Malfoy! What have you done?"

~o~o~

**3\. Not a Ghost**

Calm down, Draco thought. Start thinking. Damn. Damn. Damn. What in all the hells did we do? Severus is, oh god, a ghost? Can't be. He's all in colour — well as colourful as he ever got — and ghosts are always in shades of grey and pearly white. And let's not forget that living, breathing body lying on the bed. Fine, accept that premise: he's not a ghost. But he's not exactly alive is he? Then what? Research, he needed to do research. Not worth bothering with the dark books in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. Go through Father's library again; see if he missed something the last few times through? Then again, maybe this not-quite-ghost can get them into the even darker books locked up behind unbreakable wards in Severus's quarters...

"OW! Fuck. OW! Potter, you idiot, I like my shoulder in the socket. Try releasing my hand before you get up and walk away." Draco massaged his right shoulder and flexed his right hand. He scowled at Harry, but the prat didn't stop until he was in front of Severus.

"You…you…" Harry stuttered and shook his head. "No. No. No." He reached out a trembling hand that stopped just short of Severus. "Why can't I save anyone?"

And then Draco was out of his chair, barely catching Harry as he crumpled to the floor.

"Malfoy. Explain. This."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Draco sat on the floor, cradling Harry's head in his lap. "Hand him over to Granger and Weasley with a 'So sorry chaps. Didn't mean to break him.' That's going to go over well."

"Sarcasm does not become you." Severus ground the words out, as if he still had teeth.

"Oh, I think it becomes me very well." Draco glared at him, welcoming the anger, the lovely, familiar anger that had kept him alive and almost sane for so many years.

Severus drifted down, settling into a flurry of dark ripples, giving the impression that he was sitting on the floor. He reached out a pale hand, but his fingers passed through Harry's forehead. "That was—" pursed lips, a small shake of his head, and Severus continued, voice soft and musing, "—different."

Draco snorted. "What exactly did you expect?"

"Touch. Feeling."

"Feeling? Now that _would_ be different."

"As you say." Severus's eyes gleamed. He pointed a long finger at Draco. "But we digress."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"What did you do to me?"

"We tried to cure you."

"And clearly failed," Severus sneered. "I expected better from you."

"Now there's gratitude for you. At least we didn't leave you to rot, like everyone else."

"What do you expect? My eternal thanks for almost getting it right?

"That would be a start."

Harry moaned "no" and shifted a little. A tear oozed from each eye, rolling down his temples and into his hair. Draco whispered to Harry, stroked a hand down his face, trying to draw him all the way back to consciousness, but he didn't respond.

"What caused this, Draco? You owe me an explanation."

"I owe you nothing. If anything, the debt is yours." Draco bent his upper body over Harry — scant protection from someone like Severus.

"Ungrateful whelp."

"If that's true then you have no-one to blame but yourself. You. My father. Albus Dumbledore. Lord Fucking Voldemort." Draco's fury blazed ugly and wild. "We were your children. You were supposed to care for us, nurture us. Not bring us into your war. You set us against each other. Used us. Abused us. Doled out lies, promises, truths so twisted and cloaked that they might as well have been lies. Taught us to hate and to hex each other. Do you wonder that we barely function now? That we struggle to succeed — to survive — in a world where the rules of war, the rules of our childhood, no longer apply?"

Severus reared back, nostrils flaring. One hand raised in a warding gesture.

"You deny it?"

Sinking back down, head bowed, there was something broken in Severus's voice when he finally raised his head and spoke. "No. That I cannot deny."

They stayed there, unmoving, wrapped in silence, unable to break eye contact, until Harry stirred, reached out to touch only air. "No. Oh no. Oh bloody fucking hell, Draco."

"Mr Potter."

Harry's head snapped up, green eyes pinned wide open. "S.. sorry, sir, professor. I talked him into it… we just wanted… didn't mean to…"

"Do be quiet, Potter. Babbling is not your forté."

It was all just too much. Draco snorted. Laughter burst from him — a few painful, hysterical sounds that were closer to sobs than chuckles. His eyes itched with non-existent tears. His stomach muscles clenched and hurt from the effort to save his dignity and hold it back. He quickly regained his control, however, and then he smirked at Harry and Severus, who stared back at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Oh come on. Such delicious bathos and humour. You've got to admit it's at least a bit funny."

"He's clearly been keeping company with you too long, Potter."

"You can't blame this one on me. Maybe I babble a bit from time to time, but I don't bust out into hysterics for no apparent reason." Harry sat up and ruffled his hands through his hair, doing nothing to improve its appearance.

"Perhaps." Severus settled down a little further, robe billowing up around him, as he rested an elbow on his knee and cupped his chin in his hand. "However, I'm sure I would remember if Draco had had histrionics in quite that way before."

"And you're sure that you have all of your memories?" Draco leaned forward rubbing his sore shoulder. This he needed to know, if they were going to stand a chance of understanding why the charmed potion hadn't quite worked as expected.

Severus seemed to pull back inside himself, colour wavering just a little then settling when his awareness fully returned. "Yes. I believe so. Although I do not see how we could be certain that none are missing."

"He's got a point, Draco." Harry shrugged. "If the memory's missing, he isn't going to know. And it would take years just to run through the ones we know about."

"True," Draco mused. "Still, we should get Severus to write down as much as he remembers from the time you saw him with the Dark… Voldemort."

"And how, pray tell, do you plan to get me to do that?" Severus waved his hand through Harry again, just to prove a point.

"Quick-quotes quill," Draco spoke up quickly, in case someone suggested he take dictation. It wasn't his fault that he'd received calligraphy lessons while Harry's handwriting was all but illegible.

"That would work—" Harry nodded thoughtfully "—as long as it has a long form setting. Skeeter-style notes would be worse than nothing at all."

"In return, I wish to see your notes for this potion." Severus glared at them. Unless you're both too dunderheaded to believe my assistance will be of use."

"Told you he'd be looking over our shoulders and making sure we got it right," Harry said.

"Was there ever any doubt of that?"

~o~o~

"Well that's unexpected."

Draco looked over to see Poppy standing in the doorway, mouth twitching, clearly fighting the urge to smile.

"I hardly think amusement is an appropriate response to this debacle, Poppy." Severus sniffed and glided upright.

"It's hardly a debacle, Severus." She walked over to the bed, wand in hand, and began to run tests on Severus's body. "At the very least, I would think you'd appreciate being able to communicate."

Severus joined her at the bed and peered curiously down at his body. Sounding confused, he said, "I look... peaceful."

"First time for everything, isn't there?" Harry muttered.

"Even that," Draco agreed and stood up, holding out a hand for Harry. "Come on. Let's see what we did manage to accomplish."

"Other than the obvious, I presume." Harry glanced at Draco's hand, then quirked an eyebrow at him. Not knowing what to say, Draco kept his face blank and chose not to say anything at all. Harry smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he accepted Draco's hand and his help to get up.

Draco watched him walk away. They'd shaken hands more than once since he'd followed Harry to the Shrieking Shack after that last battle, but that time felt different, as if an offer he didn't know he was making had been accepted. Whatever. If it turned out to be important, he'd work it out. He shrugged and started towards the bed where Poppy had finished her tests.

"Headmaster Professor Snape!" Winky's screech caused Draco to stumble and to reach for his wand.

He was about to yell at the house-elf, but Winky's expression derailed his highly appropriate scolding. She knelt on the bed, hovering protectively over Severus's body. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open, exposing badly stained, pointed teeth. She was staring at Severus and clawing at her ears.

"Shit," Harry swore. "Now what?"

"Behave yourself," said Severus, "and leave my body alone."

Winky twitched. She rocked in place, back and forth, pulling at her ears and banging her head on the closest bedpost. "Winky looks after Headmaster Professor Snape. Winky must not leave him alone, not even if Headmaster Professor Snape says." She began to wail.

Clenching his jaw, Draco counted to ten and reminded himself that he couldn't hex house-elves. The momentary satisfaction, the temporary peace that would come from shutting the creature up, was not worth ending his probation and being sent to Azkaban. They weren't.

"Winky, you can't look after Snape if you hurt yourself." Harry's voice was soft and firm and, surprisingly, caused the creature to snap her mouth closed.

"Quite," agreed Poppy briskly. "We'll need you to continue your duties as we attempt to search for a cure. Right, Severus?"

She gave Severus a hard glare that Draco recognised from his stays in the infirmary. For a moment, as Severus returned her glare, Draco thought he'd argue, but then he nodded. "Agreed."

A smile spread across the house-elf's face. "Winky does her duty to Headmaster Professor Snape."

~o~o~

"So, if we use the tests you ran just before we administered the potion as a baseline, the only apparent change is the improved responsiveness of his nervous system and brain." Draco scrubbed at his eyes then went back to resting his chin on his hands, his elbows on the table outside Poppy's consulting room. He'd supported the idea of moving their discussion up to the infirmary — anything to get away from the accusations flung into the ether by Severus's still-unmoving body. If only he'd thought to transfigure the chairs into something that vaguely resembled comfortable.

"It doesn't make sense," Harry said — oh so helpfully — for the fourth time.

"If you're looking for sense, Mr. Potter," Severus interjected from the corner, "you really ought to have tried a different career. Magic does not have to make sense."

"But it has rules," Harry snapped. "Even you have to admit that."

"And every rule has its exceptions." Draco sighed. "Do we really have to go through this again? Or can we move on to something that's actually constructive?"

Poppy stopped tapping the end of her quill against her teeth. She started speaking slowly, as if she was still thinking through the thought. "Harry's right, though. There are rules. In magic and healing. And these results do not follow _any_ of the rules." She looked up at Severus and then back at the tests. "Although, Draco, you also make a very good point. Why didn't I think of it? Even after the craziness died down."

"Think of what?" Severus growled.

"Your records, of course." Poppy got up and went into her office to a bank of locked cupboards. She retrieved her wand and said, "_Reperio_ Severus Snape." A door flung itself open and several thick folders flew out and landed on her desk. "Now don't just sit there and stare. It's been a long night, and we're not finished yet. You might as well make yourselves useful while I find what we need. Harry, dear, can you order us some breakfast from the kitchens? I'd like a cup of tea to go with my usual. Draco, I'd appreciate if you could put the new potions away in my store cupboard. Severus—" she picked up the folders "—if you could do your best to remember everything, potions or otherwise, that you might have taken in the months before the last battle."

"Coffee, Harry. Lots of it. And a plate of eggs and bacon. The house-elves know how I like it." Draco smirked at the annoyance that flashed over Harry's face. It really was outrageously easy to get him going.

"Your wish is my command." Harry swept a bow, his eyes glinting with something Draco hoped was humour. "As long as it suits me."

Draco grimaced. The Gryffindor git really was growing on him.

~o~o~

Six o'clock in the morning was an utterly uncivilised time for breakfast, Draco thought as he stacked his empty plate and silverware on the tray. His only consolation was that he hadn't had to wake up for it. That would have been beyond the pale. He refilled his cup from the coffeepot and settled back into his chair.

Harry was perched on the sill, staring out the window, teacup cradled between his hands. His trainers were on the floor below him; his bare feet were braced against the stone wall. Somewhere between here and the kitchens, he'd found a leather strip and used it to tie his hair back into a sloppy ponytail. He could have asked to borrow my comb or the name of my hairdresser, Draco thought, pushing away the vague desire to use his fingers to card that hair into a style that at least appeared to be intentionally tousled.

"He has grown up quite nicely," Severus murmured into Draco's ear. "I barely recognise the scrawny runt of your school days."

A shiver ran down Draco's spine when the expected warm breath did not accompany the words spoken so close to his ear. Irritated by his reaction, he said, "Why Severus, I didn't know you cared."

"You cannot begin to imagine how much and how little I care."

"Enigmatic, much?" Draco twisted in his seat so that he could see Severus. "Then again, I shouldn't be surprised that you're still stuck in that rut."

"I'm impressed, Mr Malfoy. You seem to have learned a modicum of control over the years."

"All grown up, remember," Draco replied, waving a hand at the chair next to him. A good bantering session might just keep him awake for a bit longer. Severus settled in the air above the chair seat, and they dropped back into the routine that had helped them survive the dreary months on the run between Draco's sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts.

"If you're quite finished poking at each other, perhaps you can help me with this," Poppy said. "Harry, if you don't mind." She placed a thick stack of parchment on the table and sat down.

Topping up his cup from the steaming teapot, Harry sat down next to her, on the other side from Draco. Harry frowned at the pile. "What do you need?"

"To set the baseline for your potion, I ran the standard tests on Severus and compared them with a set taken shortly before the last battle." She separated the top parchment from the stack. "I used this record, from Severus's last visit, after he got between the Carrows and Mr Longbottom that final time."

Harry's head swung around to Severus, eyes wide with surprise. Severus simply nodded and said, "Three _Crucios_ of varying lengths and a variant of _Diffindo_ that barely missed severing my femoral artery."

"Bloody hell." Harry winced.

"You thought we were all having fun around here that year?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Your friends weren't the only ones tortured. _Everyone_ caught the fallout from their actions."

"Enough," Poppy said. "This is not helping." She waved aside their muttered apologies and continued, "These are records of Severus's infirmary stays since your first year, when Voldemort first attempted to resurrect himself. I need to know when, or even if, the specific results listed in the summary table changed. Your job is to go through these—" she divided the stack into three relatively even piles and handed one each to Harry and Draco with a piece of parchment that had been divided into six columns "—and complete the table for each record."

"You're sharing my private files with them? What happened to healer-patient privilege?" Severus objected.

"Would you prefer to spend whatever remains of your life in that state?" Poppy replied, her voice far calmer than Draco would have managed under the same circumstances. "They've worked long and hard to help you since they rescued you, and Draco has assisted in your care. I believe they've earned your trust."

"They. Rescued. Me?"

Unable to continue sitting there and let someone else defend him, Draco sneered, "You expected someone else to bother? You didn't exactly win friends and influence people that last couple of years at Hogwarts."

"Pot. Kettle." Severus sneered back.

"We're nothing alike, you inconsiderate, self-righteous arse." Draco sat up. The anger flowing through him made him alert and focussed again. He needed this, deserved this, after years and years of nothing but frustration. He spat, "_I_ was trying to keep my parents and housemates alive. _I_ wasn't obsessed with revenging myself on a long-dead rival. Why can't you toss all that puerile hostility out with the rest of the rubbish and — oh, I don't know — grow the fuck up?"

Severus snarled, "Why you ungrateful, little—"

"Stop it. Stop it." Harry's face was pale, except for two points of red high on his cheekbones. His fingers dug into the tabletop as if he had claws instead of nails. "Just stop it. Please?" As he whispered the last word, he shoved his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he slammed his way out of the infirmary.

"Fuck." Draco dragged shaking hands through his hair and tried to rein in his anger. He hadn't lost control of his temper in years and now he'd done it twice in one day. Why did he let Severus get to him? It was as if the last seven years hadn't happened, and he was a teenager again, trying to find the line between Death Eater and death and taking out his frustrations on everyone around him. Especially Harry whose own line always seemed to shine so bright and clear. He sighed and stood up. "I'll go talk to him." And try to fix this, he added to himself.

"Oh no, you won't." Poppy tapped the pile of parchment in front of him and handed him a quill. "You'll get to work on these. You might as well get used to handling the paperwork that comes with being a Healer. Severus, why don't you try making nice for a change?"

"I hardly think—"

"About time you started then." Poppy smiled brightly and picked up a quill. "Now go. Get on with it, and Draco and I will get on with finding a way to help you."

_Shoo?_ Draco bit his lip to stop himself from snickering. He watched Severus float away through the closed door, and then picked up the top parchment.

~o~o~

**4\. Unpredictable Clouds and Numbers**

Harry didn't stop running until he reached the battlements at the top of the North tower. Shivering in the wind, he cast a Warming charm and an Imperturbability charm for protection. Perching on the wide stone, he stretched one leg out in front of him and let the other dangle over the edge. That was one of the good things about being a wizard. A barefoot, barely-dressed Muggle would have been forced back inside by the bad weather. Instead, he got to sit there and enjoy the view over the Forbidden Forest, watching the sun play peek-a-boo with the dark grey clouds.

And berate himself for playing the fool. Twice in one day, no less. You'd think he hadn't learned anything since leaving this place. At least he hadn't broken anything or rattled the windows. Just fainted dead away and then let other people see where he was cracking apart. In front of Snape. Hermione was right; he really didn't have any sense of self-preservation. Harry sighed and drew his knees up, both feet flat on the parapet. He folded his arms over his knees and rested his head on his forearms, legs spread just enough that he could pretend to be examining the pitted stone. Because he was _not_ sulking or pouting.

Eventually, he leant back again and pulled his knife out of its belt sheath. He idly flipped it over and over. There was no wood up here, and it was too high to safely _Accio_ any from the ground, so he couldn't distract himself by carving that toy dragon he'd sketched out the other day. With the right combination of charms, he'd be able to get it flying around and, hopefully, belching smoke and flames. If the new design worked, he might keep this dragon instead of giving it to Teddy.

Lost in thought, head back so he could stare at the clouds, hands still fiddling with the blade, Harry didn't notice Snape's approach until a mild "Do be careful, Potter. I refuse to die simply because you have a death wish," almost toppled him over the edge in surprise. The bitter cold brush of Snape's useless attempt to grab his arm just about finished the job.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"Merely perching perilously many stories up, knife in hand."

"I wasn't..." Harry sucked in his lower lip then blew it out with his breath. He sheathed the knife. "I was watching the clouds fly past." And not thinking about how disappointed he was that Snape had followed him outside, instead of Draco — but he wasn't stupid enough to say that aloud.

"Were they doing something unusual?"

"Just being clouds."

"Fascinating." Snape hovered halfway through the stone. A shaft of sunlight caught the edge of his image, fading his colours and leaving him almost as translucent as Sir Nicholas.

When the clouds blocked the sun once again and Snape regained colour and focus, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Unsettled, he snapped at Snape, "What do you want?"

Snape turned his head, his expression bland. "Poppy sent me to make nice."

"Do you even know how?"

"She apparently believes I'm educable." The liquid rise and fall of one of Snape's shoulders made Harry want to reach out and touch the opaque black not-fabric.

Instead, for no reason he could explain to himself, Harry offered Snape a conspiratorial grin. "Poppy can be pretty determined. I've given up arguing with her when she gets that 'mother knows best' look."

To Harry's surprise, Snape accepted the offer with nothing more than a grimace and asked, "In that case, to save me from an unwinnable dispute, will you return to the infirmary?"

"Sure. Just, erm, try not to turn it back into Hogwarts the Unbearable again, yeah? I'm sort of used to mostly getting along with Draco these days."

"I shall endeavour."

"S'all I ask." Harry slid down onto the walkway. "Lead on."

~o~o~

"Done skiving off?" asked Draco as Harry sat down in the chair next to him. Harry shrugged, and Draco shoved a stack of parchment towards him. "Good. We've still got most of your pile left."

Mumbling something that Harry hoped sounded more like 'thank you' than 'fuck you', he picked up an ever-inked quill and started going through the records. After the first ten or fifteen sheets, he stopped paying attention to the numbers and just noted them down. The sheer number of infirmary visits astonished Harry. He glanced over at Snape, who had his back to the three of them and was attempting to distract himself with the contents of the storage cupboard. Assuming Harry had about one-half of one-third of the records, which was something like two years of visits, that meant Snape had been in the infirmary more often than all of the Gryffindors in Harry's year put together. And people said Harry spent too much time there when he was in school.

"Finished?" Poppy interrupted Harry's train of thought.

Harry completed the last two records and handed over his summary. She placed it between the other two. With one finger, Poppy traced the lines of numbers across the months and years. All of the results stayed within the same range until about halfway through Harry's fourth year. The numbers changed slowly, incrementally. One result increased. Another decreased. A third bounced up and down. The others stayed within the same range. Fifth year. Sixth year. The numbers changed again and again, at the same slow rate. But a comparison of the baseline taken at the end of what would have been Harry's seventh year, if he hadn't been camping in the cold and wet, bore little resemblance to that taken at the beginning of his fourth year.

"Poison?" Harry asked.

"I highly doubt it," Snape answered. "After Quirrell's failed attempt at the stone, I started a precautionary regime."

"Besides," Draco pointed out, "not dead."

"Not all poisons kill." Harry resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. "Even I know that."

"Enough," Poppy snapped. "If you're all going to continue acting like children, I will start treating you that way. And I can guarantee you won't like it."

"But it's how we are," Draco protested.

"Seriously," Harry agreed. "It's all friendly."

Snape didn't say a word.

"And you're so comfortable with it that you stormed out earlier." Poppy glared at Harry, Draco, and Snape in turn. Then she shook her head. "I swear the three of you will be the death of me some day."

"No." Harry blurted out the word, then groaned and dropped his head onto his folded arms when he realised what he'd exposed. To a pair of Slytherins who picked apart words for their hidden meanings like Molly picked apart knitting to find a dropped stitch. But, still, was it really too much to ask that, just once, he could _be the life_ of someone?

"And on that note, gentlemen, I think it's time we took a break." Poppy laid a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm sure that neither of you has had much sleep over the past week, never mind last night."

"She's right," Draco said. "My brain is about as useful as bubotuber pus in a Calming draught." He stood and pulled on Harry's arm. "Come on, Harry. We can get Kreacher to make up your room at Grimmauld, as long as you don't mind sharing the place with me again."

"S'fine." Now that the lack of sleep had been brought to his attention, Harry could tell how drugged he felt. He shoved himself to his feet. Swaying just a little, he yawned until his jaw cracked, and then scrubbed at his face with the hand he'd used to cover his mouth.

"We'll put together my notes on the potion and Harry's on the infused charms, and bring them with us tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Poppy smiled. "If you don't object, I'll contact Minerva and get some rooms set up in the castle for each of you tomorrow. I'd like to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later."

"S'fine." Harry repeated, knowing that he'd pretty much agree to anything at that point if it would get him and his runaway mouth out of Snape's presence.

"And what shall I do while you're all off getting your beauty sleep?"

Draco suggested, "Oh, I don't know, Severus. Why don't you see how many of the castle ghosts you can send into conniptions?"

To Harry's amazement, instead of taking Draco's head off at the knees, Snape's lips twitched into something like a smile and he nodded. "That could prove quite … amusing."

"Excellent." Draco rubbed his hands together. "Now if you'll excuse us, I've got some beauty sleep to catch up on."

Harry groaned. "It's cruel to feed me lines like that when I'm too tired to take advantage with them."

"Whatever gave you the idea that I'm anything but cruel?" Draco asked, his tone and expression strangely soft in a way that defied Harry's ability to interpret them.

Not knowing how else to respond, Harry shrugged and muttered, "Dunno." Then he yawned again. This time, when they Apparated, he let Draco side-along him and allowed himself to relax into the comfortable security of Draco's arms.

~o~o~

**5\. Bad Masters**

"Coffee," Harry mumbled, putting two mugs on the kitchen table.

"Toast," Draco replied, sending a plate with a stack of cold, thickly buttered toast over to land between the mugs.

Harry folded his arms on the table and dropped his aching head on them. "Mmmmff."

"Who invented mornings anyway?"

"S'afternoon."

"Bastards."

"Huh?" Harry lifted his head and frowned at Draco. "What've they got to do with it?"

In response, Draco whacked him over the head with the _Prophet_ and then threw it at him. "Your bloody friend and her confederates in Magical Creatures, that's who? They've got the house-elf bill on the short list for the next Wizengamot session."

"So?" Harry skimmed the article, not able to see whatever had Draco in knots. "What's so terrible about that? Might actually be a good thing for them."

Draco rolled his eyes. "For the few who want freedom, sure. But it's not as if she asked the house-elves what they wanted, is it? What about Winky? She hated being free."

"Oh, fuck." Harry could see when the same horrible thought crossed Draco's mind. "What are we going to do if it passes before—"

"We'll have to pay her, that's all."

"But the rules won't be the same. No binding magic, no guarantee of secrecy."

"How long do we have?"

Scanning the article as fast as he could, Harry finally stabbed a finger in the offending paragraph. "Six weeks at most, depending upon the order they set for hearing the bills."

"Can I hex Granger?"

"No," Harry said, while privately wishing that they could.

"Oh, come on. You know you want me to."

To avoid answering, Harry grabbed a piece of toast and took a large bite.

"Be like that, then."

Harry flipped two fingers at him and took a large swallow of his coffee, washing down the toast. Then he saw the next paragraph and swore again.

"It gets worse?" Draco came around the table and read over Harry's shoulder.

Focussing on the article, Harry was able to ignore the urge to lean back against Draco. "Percy's sponsoring it."

"Weasley Four Eyes? We're doomed."

Hearing that familiar insult, Harry thrust his elbow back into Draco's stomach. "Percy's good. He'll make sure it's the first or second bill heard."

After slapping Harry on the side of the head and dislodging his glasses, Draco dropped into the chair next to him. "That's what I said."

"Not quite, but I'll give it to you anyway." Harry straightened his glasses. "It's not like we have to worry about Winky keeping secrets that could get someone killed."

Draco didn't look convinced. "Unless whoever has been poisoning Severus is still out there and wants to finish what he's started? Always assuming, of course, that—"

"—he or she ever stopped," Harry finished for him.

They exchanged worried glances, and then Draco got to his feet. "We've got to get back. Check those numbers."

"Yeah." Harry nodded, suddenly wide-awake. "We have to check against the current numbers. Not just the ones Poppy took in the past."

Before they could get up, a pop drew their attention to the end of the table in front of the fireplace where Kreacher stood. He was still old, still had folds of pale skin hanging from his too-thin body, but the hair growing out of his ears had been clipped and combed, and his tattered loincloth had been replaced with one of the clean, pressed pillowcases with the Black family crest embroidered at the shoulder. The locket, highly polished and gleaming, hung proudly on his chest.

When he had their attention, Kreacher began tapping one foot and giving them both the kind of malevolent look that Harry hadn't seen since he'd given Kreacher the locket. "Masters are bad Masters."

Harry exchanged a confused glance with Draco. "What did I do this time?"

Ears twitching and nose turning up, Kreacher asked, "What is that you and Master Draco is eating?"

"Er... toast?" Harry said.

"Masters eat _cold_ toast. With _yesterday's_ butter. Kreacher is ashamed."

As far as Harry was concerned, Kreacher looked just about anything but ashamed. However, before he could respond, Draco asked, "Do you have time to make us breakfast, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher always makes Master Draco's breakfast unless Master Harry is here." Kreacher scowled at Harry. "Master Harry does not like Kreacher's breakfasts."

"No. I mean, yes, I do like Kreacher's breakfasts," Harry hastened to reassure him, doing his best to ignore Draco's sniggers.

Kreacher nodded, his satisfaction clear in the way his shoulders straightened as much as they could and the way his ears pricked up.

"We have to return to Hogwarts," Draco said, and Harry wanted to hit him when Kreacher sagged again. "I'll need you to take care of my potions equipment while I'm gone, and Harry and I would be grateful for breakfast before we leave."

"Kreacher makes Master Draco's usual." The elf snapped his fingers. The plate of toast vanished. "And fresh coffee."

"That will be acceptable."

"I thought we were in a hurry?" Harry muttered.

"We have to eat, and Severus isn't going anywhere," Draco pointed out. "A few more minutes will not make that much difference."

The growling noise that came from Harry's stomach derailed his argument. "Fine, wake me up when it's ready," he muttered and dropped his head back down on his folded arms.

He was floating on the verge of sleep when he thought he felt something brush his hair. Feather-light, it became a bird in his dreams.

~o~o~

A plate jammed into his elbow woke Harry up. He glanced at his watch, which showed that it had only been a few minutes since he'd closed his eyes. Not quite long enough for Harry to cook omelettes and slice fruit. However, he'd never quite understood how house-elves managed to do half the things they did, so he shrugged it off.

"Master eats."

"Do you ever wonder exactly who is the Master around here?" Draco smirked at Harry over his mug.

"Gave up long ago." Flashing Draco a smile, Harry pushed the paper off to one side, picked up his fork, and drew his plate closer.

The paper was banished from the table with a loud rattle. "Masters do _not_ read Muggleblood nonsense."

"Kreacher?" Harry put his fork down and turned to the house-elf, who was swaying and quivering with anger. "What's wrong?"

"Decent house-elf does not wish freedom from Master." Plucking at his locket, Kreacher blinked at Harry. "House-elf needs Master's control."

Memories of Dobby and his attempts to _help_ him caught Harry by the throat. Dobby had been free, but Dobby had still wanted Harry to ask him to do things. When Dobby had done what he thought was best for Harry, the results had been almost disastrous.

"Kreacher?" The intentness of Draco's tone broke into Harry's thoughts and pulled his attention back to the present. "What happens to house-elves when their Masters die?"

"House-elves belong to young Master or Mistress."

"And if they are gone?"

Shaking his head so hard shake that the locket bounced on his chest, Kreacher said, "Master asks impossible question. An heir there is always."

From the look on Draco's face, they'd both come to the same conclusion at the same time. Harry made a shushing motion at Draco, who nodded his agreement that Harry should ask the next couple of questions.

He started with the simplest one. "Can any member of the household give a house-elf clothes?"

"No clothes." Kreacher clutched at his locket. "Not for Kreacher."

"Nobody will give Kreacher clothes," agreed Draco. "We just need some information."

A shrewd expression crossed over the house-elf's face. "Masters _promise_?"

"Masters promise," Harry echoed.

Keeping a hand on his locket, Kreacher bowed once to each of them. "Kreacher can answer Masters' questions."

Thinking carefully, Harry tried a different version of his question. "If a father is a house-elf's Master, and that father tells the house-elf to look after his son and take care of his son and not do anything else for the father, who can give the house-elf clothes?"

"Master Harry asks child-elf riddle," Kreacher sneered. "Master Draco knows answer."

"Answer the question," ordered Draco.

"If father gives house-elf to son, then son is owner." Kreacher didn't say _Stupid Master_ but Harry heard the words anyway.

He was just about to repeat his question, with slightly different wording, when the Floo came to life.

"Harry? Draco?" Minerva McGonagall was calling their names before her face coalesced in the fire.

The edge of emotion in her voice had Harry spilling out of his chair and over to the hearth with Draco right behind him. "What's wrong?"

"There you are." Minerva sounded relieved. "You've got to come now. Bring your notes and everything. Severus is in trouble."

"Ten minutes at the most," Draco said.

"If you open the Floo," Harry added, "So we don't have to run in from the gates."

Minerva withdrew for a moment, before returning to tell them, "Hogwarts Infirmary. Poppy says you know the password."

They'd already begun moving away when the fire call ended.

"Study," Harry said.

"Clothes," Draco responded.

Then they took off running. A few hectic minutes later — and only one brief panic-filled moment when he thought he'd lost control of the paper storm — Harry met Draco back in the kitchen. A file bag banged into his hip as he tapped his foot impatiently and juggled shrunken bags and boxes and Draco took an extra couple of minutes to sort through his potions and cauldrons.

"Floo powder," Draco finally said.

Harry glanced down at his full hands. "With which hand?"

Draco huffed out a breath and reached for the jar on the mantelpiece. "Do I have to do everything for you?"

"Apparently." Harry smiled at him.

Draco threw the sparkling powder on the fire and shoved Harry into the fireplace, yelling, "Hogwarts Infirmary. Snakebite."

~o~o~

**6\. Interactions**

Draco burst through the Floo, taking care to place the potions he was carrying on the closest bed — where Harry had apparently tossed his burdens — and then raced down the stairs and into Severus's room. Which stank of vomit and urine and the ozone-taint of a resuscitation spell.

Severus's body was floating a few inches above the bed, his head surrounded by the blue haze that denoted oxygen and breathing charms in use. Severus himself was hovering next to it, his colour occasionally flickering into the grey of a normal ghost.

Below him, Winky was replacing the mattress and remaking the bed, in between banging her head on the stone wall.

A quill taking notes on one side and a potions tray on the other, all of Poppy's attention was on her patient, She swished and flicked her wand in a series of graceful arabesques. In contrast to her apparent equanimity, Minerva was slumped in a chair, Harry at her shoulder, with strands of greying hair hanging out of her usually neat bun and stains that Draco did _not_ want to identify on her dress.

"What the hell happened?" Draco asked, taking up a position next to Poppy. "Severus was fine—" he glanced upwards "—well, as fine as he ever gets, when we left."

Severus floated through his own body — which gave Draco the shudders. "Your potion—"

"It was not our potion," Harry growled, coming over to stand next to Draco.

"Because the pair of you are such geniuses, no doubt."

"I'm not." Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "But Draco is."

Harry's support was as welcome as Severus's sneering attack had been unexpected. Draco straightened his shoulders. "How dare you. You haven't so much as sniffed the potion or read our notes. Nothing in the potion or any of the charms we infused into it could have caused this. Nothing."

"So sure of yourself. Just like your father."

An ache filled Draco. "Leave my father out of this."

"There you go again." Harry sighed. "Always banging on about our fathers. Are you so much like yours that you're convinced every other man must be a clone of his father?"

"Not helping." Draco batted at Harry and cut a warning glare at Severus. "Our potion was tested and approved by us and by Poppy, Filius Flitwick, and Potions Guild Master Pierce-Waite. Do you wish to accuse them of approving a potion that might kill the patient?"

"I was accusing no one. Simply proposing a reasonable hypothesis."

"May I suggest," said Minerva, the steel beneath her tone indicating that it wasn't really a suggestion, "that we allow Poppy and Winky to do their jobs and take this _altercation_ upstairs where we will be out of their way."

"Thank you." Poppy paused. "I will be upstairs as soon as I can with news."

~o~o~

Once upstairs, Draco headed straight for the file bag. He took it to another bed and upended it. Notes and journals spilled out across the bare mattress. Without hesitating, he located his most recent journal and took it over to the table, which was still covered with neat stacks of Severus's medical records.

Severus reached for the book, only to click his tongue in frustration when his hand passed through it. "Open it."

"You'll need this, too." Harry dropped a red-covered journal next to Draco's black one, opening it at a tab that marked a page about a quarter of the way through. "All of my charm work is documented in here. The other papers—" he gestured back at the bed "—have details of the background research, but I don't think you'll need them."

"Why don't you and Minerva look through that?" Severus suggested. "Draco and I can go over his potion."

Shaking his head, a stubborn look on his face, Harry said, "I don't need to look. It's not the potion or the charms."

"There's nothing wrong with being sure." Draco reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"I am sure."

"Of course," Minerva agreed, "but it can only help if Severus and I are familiar with your work."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." Harry stepped back from the table. "I'm going to get us some tea."

Confused by his own need to do something to reassure him, Draco followed him out the infirmary doors. "Harry," he called and was unconscionably relieved when Harry stopped.

"What?" Harry leant against the wall. His pose drew Draco's attention to the line of his shoulders and the notch at the base of his throat.

"I just..." Hesitating, Draco raked a hand through his hair. The thought that it was too short to disarray was oddly reassuring.

"It's all right. It wasn't us."

"No. It wasn't. But it could have been caused by an interaction."

Interest sharpened Harry's expression. "Between something in the potion and whatever has been poisoning Snape?"

"Exactly."

"We need to find out what that is."

"I wonder if there are any samples of Severus's blood from before our fourth year," Draco mused. "If we tested that against a sample taken before we gave him the potion and one from today."

"Knowing what is killing him could save his life and buy us enough time to prove who," Harry said. His breath was warm against Draco's ear.

Draco blinked. He hadn't realised they'd moved so close together. Without thinking, he raised a hand and touched Harry's cheek. The skin was unexpectedly soft in contrast to the stubble that was just beginning to darken his jaw. Even more unexpected, unhoped-for, was the way that Harry leant into Draco's palm. Looking into Harry's eyes, he tried to remember the words he needed to ask the question.

Pulling back with a smile that Draco couldn't help but return, Harry said, "First Snape." He traced a thumb over Draco's bottom lip. "And tea."

Harry started down the corridor towards the stairs, and a thought crossed Draco's mind. "Why don't you call an elf instead of getting it yourself?"

Pausing, tilting his head, Harry shrugged. "Don't know any of their names, do I?"

"Names?"

"To call for them."

And, with that, Draco understood just how much difference being raised by Muggles made. Biting his lower lip to stop himself from sniggering, Draco sauntered towards Harry. Two steps away, he stopped, one hip cocked, and licked his lips.

When he had Harry's full attention, Draco raised his right hand in a lazy arc and snapped his fingers. "House-elf."

A house-elf appeared with a pop directly below Draco's outstretched arm. Its Hogwarts tea towel was perfectly pressed and its ears fluttered as it bobbed to each of them. "Salter is here. How can Salter help Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter?"

"Oh." Harry's lips formed an almost perfect circle. "Hullo Salter."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Draco said. Resisting the urge to do something utterly outrageous to celebrate his victory, Draco spun around and strolled slowly back to the infirmary. He was sure that Harry was watching him the whole way.

~o~o~

Sitting on an uncomfortable chair and flipping pages in his journal on command while Severus read over his shoulder was not Draco's idea of fun. Especially when Severus didn't say anything. Not a complaint or a compliment. Just the occasional hum, click of his tongue, or — in one truly disheartening moment — an odd scoffing noise.

Draco's good mood and patience had both evaporated when Harry strolled back into the infirmary. "Took you long enough."

Unfortunately, Harry didn't take the bait. He merely shrugged and went to sit opposite Draco, next to McGonagall, who was paging through Harry's notebook on the charms they'd used and had been as silent as Severus.

Then Draco noticed that Harry was fidgeting and that he wasn't looking at McGonagall. He slapped his hand down on his journal and, when he had Harry's attention, he asked, "What did you do?"

Harry's attempt at an innocent look was hopeless. "What makes you think I've done anything?"

To Draco's relief, McGonagall said, "That expression didn't work on me when you were eleven. What makes you think it will work now?"

After heaving a ridiculously unbelievable put-upon sigh, Harry admitted, "I firecalled Hermione. She and Ron will be here in a few minutes."

"Just bloody brilliant. Doesn't anybody trust my work?" Draco shoved his chair back — right through Severus, which felt even weirder than having the Bloody Baron float through him — and stormed away from the table and out of the room.

Harry's voice, calling his name, followed Draco out the door, but he didn't slow down until he reached the Quidditch pitch. He didn't want to fight with Harry, not after what had happened in the corridor. Was it so wrong to want that feeling to last, even for an hour?

Outside, the grass and the air still held most of the heat from the day, but he could feel a chill edging in. Memories of not-so-long ago summers in Wiltshire, stabbed through him and drove his anger that much higher. He couldn't go home, even if he wanted to. His father and the thrice-damned Dark Lord and their cronies had left the Manor uninhabitable. With the residue of years of Dark magic and Dark creatures roiling around inside the walls, it was no wonder his mother died and his father went mad.

But he couldn't think about that, because he couldn't permit himself the luxury of madness. Instead, he stretched, raising his hands above his head, and did his best to release his anger. He focussed on the slide of soft cotton over his chest and back, and the gentle touch of the breeze against his skin. He'd never before owned and worn clothing for so many years. If he could work out how, he never would again. But he'd also like to keep this feeling, finding a way to age cotton into softness without the ravelling side-effects of too much wear.

Looking up at the darkening blue sky, he wanted to fly. Not on a broom, but through his own magic. Floating with the clouds, away from everything and everyone bound to the earth.

~o~o~

"I'm sorry."

Draco kept his gaze on the loop of the Quidditch post.

"I... erm—" a shuffling noise "—I'm... oh hell, you know I'm rubbish with people."

Draco bent his head and contemplated his shoes, which were holding up well under such constant use, all things considered.

"I hate it, too. Having people watch over me, question everything I do. Especially Snape and McGonagall. It's like being back in school."

"Then why do it to me?"

In his peripheral vision, Draco could see Harry coming to stand next to him. From the odd movements, he was probably raking his hands through his hair and indulging in some of the other strange habits that made him Harry Potter.

"I didn't... oh, you mean Hermione."

"This was _ours_. And now everyone else is picking it apart, and they're not interested in anything we have to say." Draco scrubbed at his nose. "Is it so hard to imagine that we can solve it ourselves?"

Rather than the self-defensive rant Draco had expected, Harry didn't say anything at all. He just slipped his arms around Draco's waist and hugged him. It was the most peculiar thing. The word _Don't_ rose automatically to Draco's lips, but he didn't say it aloud. He simply returned Harry's embrace, rested his head on Harry's shoulder, and relaxed.

~o~o~

**7\. Instructions Matter**

When Harry walked back into the infirmary, not quite holding hands with Draco, Hermione and Ron were already there. Ron was listening to Poppy and Minerva and stuffing himself on cream cakes. Next to him, Hermione and Snape were comparing something in his notebook with a page in Draco's journal.

For once Harry didn't blame Draco for getting upset. He decided to speak up before Draco could send things completely pear-shaped. "Don't suppose you thought about asking first?"

Hermione's face flushed unattractively. "Honestly, Harry. You did call me in to help, and Snape can't exactly turn the pages himself."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. The bastard.

"And how did you ever feel about Ron and I looking at your work without asking?"

"Well, this is hardly the—"

Snape interrupted, his tone mild enough to raise Harry's hackles. "Did you expect me to sit back and die quietly while you squabbled?"

"We didn't find anything wrong with your theory, your potion, or your charms." Hermione closed the journal and the notebook. "If that's at all reassuring."

"How could it be anything else?" Draco said in a snide tone.

"It's still nice to confirm that the problem's not in Draco's potion or my charms." Harry contemplated the digestives and single broken chocolate biscuit left on the sweet plates and wrinkled his nose. "Has anyone looked at the baseline numbers again? Worked out what could cause the change?"

Before anyone else could respond, Poppy admitted, "The records of the original tests are all we have. My storeroom was destroyed in the battle. All I have are the current records that I keep in my office."

Snape snorted. "Well, that's helpful."

"Enough, Severus," Minerva admonished him. "We hardly need you to make things more difficult."

Catching Draco's eye, Harry made a go-ahead gesture and left him to explain their thoughts about the continued poisoning. In the meantime, Harry poured tea for them and checked out everyone else's plates. The only attractive sweets were the two cream cakes that Ron had left. The possessive way that Ron was eyeing them made it clear that he wasn't willing to share.

There was only one thing for it. Harry snapped his fingers and called, "Salter."

A soft pop and Salter was standing before Harry. "Harry Potter is calling. What can Salter do for Harry Potter?"

"More sweets, please. Cream cakes, if you have them."

"Fresh tea would be lovely," Poppy said.

Bobbing his head at each of them, Salter exclaimed, "Creams cakes we have. And tea for Mediwitch Pomfrey."

Minerva added. "And a bottle of Pleiades Firewhisky from my personal stock."

This time Salter's bow was deeper. "As Mistress wishes."

"Mistress?" Harry asked at the same time as Draco said, "Why did you call her that?"

Salter squeaked, and Minerva frowned at them. "As Headmistress, I am _de facto_ Mistress of all Hogwarts house-elves. What else should they call me?"

"What would you call me, Salter?"

"You is Harry Potter, sir."

"Harry, why are you asking?" Hermione asked, but he ignored her.

Instead, Harry exchanged a glance with Draco and knew that he was thinking the same thing when Draco asked, "And Poppy is Mediwitch Pomfrey?"

Confusion creased Salter's face into unattractive folds and made his eyes bulge out. "Who else is she being?"

Harry was about to ask the next question, the most important question, when Snape said, "And me, Salter. What name would you use for me?"

Salter tugged on his ears. "You is being difficult. Not true Master, but not Not-Master either. Senior house-elf says we is honouring you as Headmaster Professor Snape until you decides to be alive or not-alive."

"Child-elf riddle," Harry said, and then he ran for the stairs with Draco and Snape on his heels, ignoring all of the questions that erupted in their wake.

~o~o~

"_Stupefy!_" Harry called out at the same time Draco yelled, "_Incarcerous_."

The spells hit Winky one after the other, knocking the cup from her hand and sending her flying away from Snape's body. She hit the wall and fell to the floor, wrapped in thick ropes.

"Preserve the cup and as much of its contents as you can," ordered Snape. "Transfer anything that spilled onto or soaked into the carpet to a separate container in case of contamination."

Leaving that job for Draco — along with the tongue-lashing he'd get if it weren't performed to Snape's exacting standards — Harry went over to Winky. He lifted her up, marvelling at how little she weighed, and placed her on a chair. Then, conjuring more ropes, he tied her securely to it.

Hermione came to crouch beside him, looking confused and devastated. She did her best to straighten Winky's tea towel before stroking her hand over the bruise that was growing on the right side of Winky's face.

Unable to come up with an iota sympathy, given what he suspected was true, Harry told her, "Don't loosen the ropes."

"What's going on?" she asked. "You can't believe Winky—"

The last thing Harry wanted right then was to get into with her, so he placed a finger on her lips. "Give us a few minutes, and you'll get all your answers."

She nodded, and he removed his finger.

"There's a lot you don't understand about house-elves, Granger," Draco said. "Perhaps you could reserve judgment until after we're done."

Wanting to avoid getting between Hermione and Draco and to ensure she understood what was important, Harry asked, "Snape all right?"

"For now," Poppy said, not turning around from the bed, where she was waving her wand over Snape's body. "But his condition is still deteriorating. We need to know what is causing this. And soon."

Minerva glared at Harry and Draco over the top of her glasses. "I assume that the pair of you have a good explanation for assaulting a house-elf in my school."

"It seems they believe that that house-elf is responsible for my current condition." The corners of Snape's mouth twisted in a smile so cold that it gave Harry chills. "If they're wrong, I'd be happy to help you devise an appropriate punishment for them."

"I knew there was a good reason I didn't go out for the Aurors," Ron said into the ensuing silence. "Much easier to deal with the customers at Wheezes."

"Speaking of Aurors," Hermione said. "Don't you think we should call them?"

Before Harry could object, Snape did it for him. "I'd prefer to find the solution to my poisoning before I die, if you don't mind." Then Snape flicked his hand at Draco. "Well, come on. What's in it? You've had more than enough time to get the results of the standard diagnostic and identification charms."

Draco shook his head. "There are too many ingredients, and the Nourishment potion is masking some of them. We'll have to put it through a Centrifuge charm and a Classification potion to be sure of everything."

"Do it," Snape ordered.

"No," Harry blurted out. "He can't."

"It's evidence-tampering," Hermione said in the know-it-all tone that always made Harry want to stick his tongue out at her. "And potentially interfering with an Auror investigation."

"And sufficient to send Mr Malfoy to Azkaban for the rest of his sentence. An end result that none of us wish to see happen." Minerva brushed off her robes and patted her hair. "Granger, Weasley, come with me, and bring that evidence."

"What about Winky?" Hermione protested. "Someone's got to watch out for her."

"I've been assisting in the care of the Hogwarts house-elves for far more decades than you knew they existed," Poppy said. "I do believe I can be trusted to ensure Winky's continued health."

When it looked as if Hermione would continue to protest, Harry went over to her. He caught her hands and gave her the look that always worked on her — the one that he'd used to drag her into more trouble in their schooldays than she would ever admit to.

"Harry," she whinged.

"Give it up, Hermione." Ron reached over and grabbed her hand from Harry. "You know we're just going to end up doing it."

"Very wise, Mr Weasley." Minerva nodded her approval. "Now come on with you. I, for one, would like to be back here to discover the answers." She herded them out the door, and then turned around. "Do not take too long to question her. I _will_ be bringing the Aurors back with me."

~o~o~

The first thing Winky did after Harry revived her was to try and free herself. When that failed, she began to bang her head against the chair back and to wail, "Bad Winky. Bad Winky." Over and over again until Harry was about ready to brain her — and nothing Harry or Draco said could get her to stop.

When Poppy started murmuring about permanent damage, Snape commanded, "Enough." And Winky stopped.

Harry waited until Winky's breathing returned to normal before saying, "We can't let you go Winky."

"Winky is a bad elf, sirs. Winky needs to punish herself. Iron Winky's ears. Bang Winky's head. Winky is needing to be untied, sirs."

"Winky is not a bad elf." Draco crouched down, bringing himself on a level with Winky. "You did the best you could with the instructions you were given."

To Harry's surprise, when Winky began banging her head, Draco kept his voice soft and gentle. "Hush, Winky. You don't need to punish yourself. You were the best elf you could be when neither of your Masters could give you proper instructions."

Winky's eyes bulged, and her squashed tomato nose became even redder. She bobbed her head and flapped her ears. "Winky has tried, sir. Master said to punish the Death Eater Snape who went free, who turned back on his master. Master said that Death Eater Snape is not being loyal. That Death Eater Snape is being worse than house-elf who betrays house-elf's master," a note of wonder entered her voice, "and he is refusing punishment."

"You mean Barty Crouch Jr told you to do this? I thought his father was your master."

"Old master is giving Winky to Master, telling Winky to be caring for him and doing everything for him and not to worry about old master any mores."

Another hundred and one questions bombarded Harry's mind, but he kept his mouth shut when Snape put a finger over his mouth. Let Draco do this, he told himself, and started to fidget with his wand.

"What happens when a house-elf refuses punishment?"

"Oh sir, it is bad. So very awful. Sir truly is not wanting to know."

"What punishment were you to give?"

"Poison," Winky squeaked. "But Death Eater Professor Snape is not dying like Master said, is not becoming sick like bad elf would. And Master goes away, but Master is being still there, and Master is not telling Winky what to do."

"You went to Azkaban?" The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could prevent it.

"Winky goes to Master. But Master is not answering."

"So you followed your master's instructions," Draco said. "But what about the clothes that you were given?"

"Master is not giving Winky clothes. Master is believing that Winky is a good elf. Master's father is having insulted Winky." A sly smile crossed her face. "Master is having revenged Winky."

"But your Master abandoned you at Hogwarts?"

Winky rocked as much as the ropes would permit. "Winky is being forced to wear clothes as if Winky was a bad, bad elf."

"Get on with it," Snape gritted out.

Without looking up, Draco said, "But you kept punishing Professor Snape, even after you were bound to him and instructed to take care of him."

"House-elf must obey," Winky moaned, continuing to rock. "Instructions is not caring if Master is alive or dead, is there or not there."

"What kind of poison did you use to punish Professor Snape?"

"Winky is using proper house-elf poison: aconite, and bane of unicorn, and," her voice dropped to a hush, "phoenix whisky."

_Bane of unicorn? Phoenix whisky?_ Harry didn't have the faintest clue what either of them were, so he asked, "What are—"

Draco interrupted. "But you didn't give Professor Snape enough to kill him."

"Winky is punishing Headmaster Professor Snape, not killing him. Good elves cannot be killing their family." Tears rolled down Winky's face. "Winky is trying to be good elf, sir."

~o~o~

"What do you expect us to do with a house-elf?" Auror Hestia Jones asked. "The wards on our cells are designed to allow house-elves to come and go, so they can care for the prisoners."

Harry was not surprised when Head Auror Dawlish ignored the question, as he'd done the three previous times it had come up. At least they'd been able to stop him from trying to get Draco to confess something that would have had him sent to Azkaban.

In the ensuing awkward silence, Minerva suggested, "Perhaps the Hogwarts house-elves can assist."

"Hogwarts?" Dawlish snorted. "We've got elves at the Ministry, you know."

"But nowhere to imprison them. Hogwarts has a house-elf infirmary with rooms that are specifically designed to prevent overeager elves from returning to work before they are healthy enough," Poppy said. "Winky is in one of those rooms now. We could simply keep her there."

"You are, of course, welcome to have a Ministry house-elf or Auror on the premises to oversee her imprisonment." Minerva stood up. "Why don't we continue this discussion in my office."

"You can hardly expect us to simply abandon evidence—"

"My body is not evidence." Snape floated in front of Dawlish. "And I do not appreciate being condemned to death because you have the intelligence of a chizpurfle."

Dawlish's face purpled and the vein in his forehead began to beat. Before he could say anything, however, Jones offered, "I could stay here and ensure that the chain of evidence is preserved." When Dawlish glared at her, she added a belated, "Sir."

In the end, after another half hour of arguing that had Harry ready to throttle the idiot — or, worse, go to Kingsley and use his influence to get him fired — Dawlish took the Floo back to the Ministry and left Jones behind.

However, before Harry could relax, he was hauled down to the Potions lab to begin working on updating the charms and adjusting the potion to revive Snape.

~o~o~

**8\. A Second Chance**

It took them almost a week, but eventually they were back in the room next to Poppy's quarters. It felt crowded to Draco with four of them in there. Severus hovered at the top of the bed, next to the pillow on which his head rested, almost appearing to be sitting on the bed. Poppy perched on the edge of a ladder-backed chair that she'd placed next to the bed. Her back was rigid; her gaze moved constantly between Severus's unmoving body and Severus. She hadn't been able to watch the first time, she'd said, but this time she couldn't bear not to join their vigil.

He and Harry were sitting in the same two chairs. Tea cooled, undrunk, in mugs on the small table between them. Draco reached out and Harry's hand was there, his fingers twining with Draco's, warm, strong, and reassuring.

A rasping groan filled the room, echoing back and forth between the body and the spirit. Draco tightened his grip on Harry's hand, grounding himself with the pain, as Severus's body began to tremble. Severus's back arched, his head went back, and his mouth opened.

There was an instant of something, a flash of darkness or perhaps brilliant white light that seared across Draco's vision, and then Severus was gone and Severus's eyes were open,

Poppy was on her feet immediately, casting spells and taking care of her patient.

Draco could only watch and clutch Harry's hand.

Until Severus mumbled, "Remind me never to do that again."

"He'll be fine," Poppy said, and Draco could hear her tears in her voice.

And then he was blinking against the burning in his eyes and swallowing against the lump in his throat. And on his feet, hugging Harry.

~o~o~

**9\. The Life of Him**

When Poppy announced that Snape would be fine, Harry dragged Draco to his feet, wrapped his arms around him, and held on, unable to think past the idea that they'd done it, that they'd actually saved someone.

"You can come over." Poppy smiled at them. She'd helped Snape to sit up, propped up against a pile of pillows.

"Don't think this gets you a pass in Potions, Potter," Snape said. His voice was oddly stern, as if he wasn't holding on to Poppy's hand for dear life.

Harry smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"You're welcome," was Draco's only response, and Harry understood that, too, because Snape had thanked them in his own unique way.

"Go on." Poppy made a shooing motion with her free hand. "You can see him again in a couple of hours."

They walked backwards. Harry couldn't stop watching Snape and Poppy, the way that she stroked his cheek and his mouth curved into an expression that was almost gentle. Closing the door on that, leaving them alone and not being able to see Snape alive and in his body, felt right though. Not difficult at all.

"We did it," he murmured to Draco.

"Yes," Draco agreed.

Then Draco kissed him. In the hallway outside Snape's room. Stubble scraped against Harry's face, pressed into his upper lip and against his chin.

And Harry had never felt happier.

~end~


End file.
